Respire

by Cody Prough

  What were they planning?

  “What’s going to happen to them?” Sarah’s voice sounded distant, flat, robotic. Romero glanced over at her, letting her Mac 10 hang loosely in her hand. “I like you. You’re a persistent bitch.” She sniffed, looking out of the windows of the bus. “They’ll be traded. You guys are the new currency.” Romero spit on the ground. “Except, some of you won’t be.” Romero looked over at Sarah, a look on her face that, if Sarah didn’t know any better, would be pity and fear for her. “Some of you will be even worse off I imagine.” Sarah let her gaze turn to the window. When she could catch glimpses of her reflection she could see her eye had begun to swell shut. The discoloration had started and a split ran down her face. “Please don’t.” Doc’s voice came from the back, on the verge of tears. “I need to save them.” Doc began to cry openly. “I must save all of them…” Doc was sobbing loudly. Romero looked to the back of the bus, nodding at the man next to Doc. He began to wrap something around Doc’s mouth, Doc had resisted, beginning hysteria and thrashing away. “No! Let me save them! You bastards, they did nothing! Nothing!” The soldier next to Doc, tired of his thrashing around, rammed his head into the window. Doc’s screams became a whimper. After a few moments and with the help of another guard they managed to hold him down and stop him from struggling. Romero seemed to be pleased with the show of resistance. “Wow, I can’t believe you two. I really thought you were the fighter of the bunch.” Romero’s face widened, a genuine grin appearing. “Tommy’ll love it.” Romero tapped the barrel of the Mac 10 against her seat. “You ever hunt? Sometimes people use live bait. Imagine what’ll happen to the ones nobody wants, puta.”

  Sarah felt a million miles away. Her hand had been on her stomach without her realizing it, Romero had noted it before Sarah even knew she was looking at her. “If the man back there doesn’t stop, we’ll toss ‘em out right fuckin’ now. Two bullets in his knees, let the lurkers feed.” Sarah turned her attention forward; her one good eye began to tear up. Doc’s whimpers slowed, then stopped. The bus barreled down the streets, gracefully moving around abandoned cars and makeshift barricades. Leaving the Sick Ward with the newest owners. It all happened quick and effortlessly, Steven having arrived as everyone was being loaded into the bus, noting the bullet riddled house with terror, then relief as he watched Sarah getting brought out and put into the bus through his rifle scope.

  Chapter Eighteen

  While Sarah was being loaded on the bus, Patrick and Lamar were crouched in a ditch just a handful of miles east. watching a rabbit sit in the snow, eating something it had stumbled upon. Just a few feet away, Lamar was aiming, his hands shaking against the cold wind. Patrick was lying next to him, his rifle was on his back, his pistol in his hand. “I got it.” Lamar was insisting, he still hadn’t taken the shot. “Kid, it’s cold out here. We need food. If you don’t…” Lamar fired, the arrow quickly closed the distance, embedding itself in the leg of the rabbit. It attempted to flee, hopping weakly before crashing down in the snow, twitching. Lamar lowered his bow, looking to Patrick. “Well, you get to cook it I guess.” Patrick stood up, brushing snow off himself, his pistol being tucked back in the holster. “Fine. Go start a fire. I’ll skin it.” Patrick was limping, his ankle was better but still felt stiff and sore, it made it even harder for him to run. As if his legs were that great to begin with, the fall from the roof just made him that much slower. “Patrick, you hear that?” Lamar paused, his bow was being slung over his shoulder, he jogged back towards his shotgun, Patrick was picked it up from the ditch and was holding it out to him. He racked a shell, glancing at Patrick.

  “An engine…” Patrick glanced down the road, off to the south west, far down and gunning north towards them was a yellow and heavily modified school bus. Heavily armored with sheet metal, brandishing the nearby school district on the side still partially visible. Patrick and Lamar, wearing similar black clothing, were hardly sticking out against the darkness, but the moon was bright, shining against the snow. “Lamar, duck!” Patrick started wobbling over to some bushes, Lamar’s body squeezed into the snow filled ditch. The bus shot to the stop, Lamar and Patrick were just off to the right of the bus now, sticking out if anyone cared to look. The snow slowly drifted down. The bus stopped and idled there momentarily. Slowly the bus pulled left, headed west back towards Mahomet and away from Patrick and Lamar.

  Patrick was panting, grabbing his ankle. The AK-47 was in his other hand, aiming pointlessly at the snow-covered ground. “So, what now?” Lamar looked at Patrick’s wounded ankle, then back up to Patrick. “What do you mean? Get the rabbit, we have to eat, don’t we?” After Lamar came back Patrick began looking around. “It’s going to be dark soon…” Patrick grunted, biting his lip. “If my fuckin’ ankle wasn’t so bad.” He sighed, shrugging. “Town’s only a few miles away. You mind?” Patrick threw an arm around Lamar’s shoulder. “I’ll cook it when we get into town.” Lamar grunted, looking around. “All hundred and fifty limping pounds of you better hurry up.” Patrick let out a laugh, coughed and doubled over. “I’d be lucky to be a buck fifty, eatin’ the way we do.” Lamar grabbed the dead rabbit, using the arrow to hoist him up. “Got a bag?”

  After bagging the rabbit, they proceeded towards the road where the bus had just left, glancing down towards (unknown to them) the Sick Ward headquarters. Patrick had paused, Lamar was looking ahead towards Mahomet, Patrick’s arm around his shoulder pulled him to a stop. “Lamar, hold on.” Patrick adjusted his body, looking towards the two-story blue Peterson house. “Why do you think they were down there?” Patrick’s face become one of curiousness, he took his arm off Lamar’s shoulders, unslinging the rifle. “I think I see some people down there still…” Lamar sighed, glancing around. “So what? Mahomet’s that way.” Patrick began limping towards the house, grunting every odd step or so. “Think they have another car down there?” Patrick started to head off towards the tree line across the road from the house, he spit a thin stream of blood into the snow. “We aren’t killin’ them, are we?” Lamar had begun to follow behind, the shotgun still in his hands, the bow slung away, arrows sticking out of a makeshift quiver Patrick had fashioned, tying it to the side of his leg.

  “Don’t worry, most people are scared when they see ol’ Angel here.” Patrick patted his rifle gently while he continued to walk, his words were coming out fine, but his limp was more prominent than Lamar had previously noticed. How hurt is he? Lamar wondered, looking at Patrick limp ahead of him. “What if they don’t surrender?” Patrick paused. He was only a few yards from the start of the tree line when he looked back at Lamar. His face, aside from the sweat that started pouring down despite the cold, seemed confused. “If they don’t surrender?” Patrick pondered this for a moment, looking around. The house, still quite a way down the road, two guards had been posted outside, from the distance they looked to be bullshitting and smoking. Every so often two other guards would come up and check in, chat for a bit, maybe bum a cigarette. “Guess we would just take ‘em prisoner. Or kill ‘em.” Patrick said, casually. Lamar’s face twisted, just a moment but Patrick caught it. “Lamar, come on. I told you, it’s the way we have to live, to survive. Kill or be killed.” Lamar nodded, shaking against the wind. “Come on, kid. Let’s get some cover. We gotta’ plan this out, get some cover from this wind.”

  Within the trees, perched at the southern end of the tree line (and closer to Dorian’s body than he wanted) Steve was positioned. His rifle aiming at the exterior of the Peterson house, the blue sidewall riddled with bullet holes, it’s a wonder the creatures didn’t pour in. A cold wind was blowing snow around, into the faces of Tennessee and his men outside of the house, their looting was nearly done. He had a mental checklist of their inventory, it appeared that most of it was placed in the living room, that much he could see by looking through the front windows that were boarded up last he left, now they were shot out from one of the recent volleys. What of the sick people inside? That wasn’t all of them on
the bus, the numbers didn’t add up.

  Fuck is that? A twig snapped; he could hear talking in the distance. Two people were approaching from the north side of the trees, they weren’t dressed like Tommy’s men.

  No fuckin’ recon skills. Steve was keeping his rifle trained on the house, but he was looking over at the limping man in all black, and the black kid beside him in matching all black attire. They both looked young, about Sarah’s age, maybe a little younger. But they were tired, thin, their clothes were too big for their frames, Steve could tell that even from this distance. But they were well armed. The slightly older man in the black, Steve assumed to be the leader, had an AK-47 in his hands, and what appeared to be a holster and belt bandolier rig around his chest with a handgun in it.

  His companion, the black kid, had a bow slung over his torso by the drawstring, a quiver full of arrows, and a shotgun in his arms. He was following the tired older guy, even though he didn’t seem injured at all. He was hesitating. He could start to hear their voices more clearly, meanwhile his own body lay still in the snow, behind trees. The two men were approaching the front of the trees, perhaps prepared to storm the house themselves. Steve watched them with a worried gaze.

  Fuck, if they’re seen my chance’ll be fuckin’ blown. The man with the AK-47 was leaning against a tree near the front of the trees, still farther from Steve, pointing to the men up front, watching as a few more come and go. The remaining men, Tennessee and his squad, were all talking out front and passing cigarettes around from one of Steve’s boxes that he stashed away. The one in charge, Tennessee, was a fit man from, oddly enough, Alabama. Standing at five foot seven inches, he had been a police officer for five years before losing his job, as he put it, for “smashing that illegal’s head through a window.” He stood before his men, chain smoking. His hair was completely cut off, sporting a plain camouflage coat, black hoodie, blue jeans, and black combat boots. Though shorter in stature than most of his men, he was the most ambitious of them when it came to the looting and killing. Carrying out executions and missions for Tommy and Dorian alike, he was certainly hopeful for Dorian’s spot, not even considering that his remains were just down the road, or how recent his death had been.

  Tennessee stood straight up, his back to the tree line. He wasn’t worried about any monsters or pathetic retaliation from the Sick Ward on this night. It was a glorious victory for Tommy. And, if that bitch Romero didn’t stand in his way, he’d be the new number two. A position he’d surely earn when he reported back the success of their raid in person, surely his report would be more truthful than that bitch Romero’s.

  His right hand held the grip of the sawn-off shotgun he had brought with him, his left held his cigarette. He puffed smoke out in rings, his men were chatting casually. They were awaiting the next transport for supplies and orders from Tommy. Romero had the first transport full of people and was instructed to bring them to back to H.Q and report to Tommy personally while Tennessee held down the Sick Ward headquarters.

  “’Ey boss, mind if I grab a box of these?” Gorgeous George, Tennessee’s freshest recruit, was holding a small box containing some nine-millimeter bullets, not even full. Tennessee looked around the group, they were all glancing inside the totes and bags left outside, talking amongst each other and smoking. Gorgeous George flipped his blonde hair back, looking at Tennessee while he smoked. “I ain’t see ‘em, just remember that.” Tennessee tossed his cigarette down into the snow, grabbing the shotgun barrel in his left hand now, firmly.

  “I’m headin’ back inside, when you guys finish jerkin’ off on each other come find me. We still gotta figure out who’s healthy, plus I saw a pretty lil’ Asian one down there.” Three of them chuckled a little, Tennessee went out of the cold and into the house, the door left open behind him. He started moving to the basement and whistling a happy, high pitched tune. He would have some fun with the sick ones down there. Tommy wanted all the healthy ones brought back, and some stragglers kept for bait, but he didn’t need all of them. He saw one of them in the corner who didn’t look half bad for an Asian girl, little older but when’d that stop ‘em? Neva’ was picky. He spit on the walls, taking the steps down. His foot pushed the door open, taking a few steps in with a wide grin on his face.

  Patrick saw Tennessee heading back inside, Lamar was watching Patrick with a worried look on his face again. “So, looks like we got four of ‘em outside now. The short one went back in.” Lamar looked away from Patrick, finally returning his gaze to the house. “Unless you plan on lighting ‘em all up, I don’t know what you plan on doin’ here, Patrick.”

  A snowball soared through the air, smacking Lamar square in the back between his shoulder blades. He jumped, spinning around with his shotgun, Patrick, just a fraction slower, did the same with his rifle. Crouched behind a tree, with a hunting rifle in his hand was Steve. His entire front soaked from the snow, he looked more pissed off than concerned about the two strangers with weapons now trained on him.

  “Get the fuck down before they fuckin’ see you.” Steve gestured at Patrick and Lamar, who, reluctantly, moved towards him, Lamar slowly lowering his weapon as he made his way over. When they were closer Steve finally convinced them to crouch, or at least as much as Patrick could. “Who the fuck are you?” Steve glanced at Patrick and Lamar up close. The AK’s barrel slowly moved away from Steve’s face and towards the ground. His first guess was right, they were both young and tired, as if they’ve been traveling and living a hard life but their weapons were certainly more impressive than most of the ones the Sick Ward had, so maybe he could use their help.

  “I’m Lamar, and this is…” Lamar trailed off, looking over at Patrick. “I’m none of his fucking business.” Patrick was glaring at Steve, but Lamar had relaxed. “I take it you’re not with ‘em.” Steve jerked his thumb over to the Sick Ward, where Tennessee’s men were done talking. Two more of them went back inside and the original two remained on guard. “Yeah, that’s why we’re sneakin’ through the woods like assholes. We’re best pals with ‘em.”

  Lamar groaned, smacking Patrick on his arm. “Patrick.” Steve chuckled. “So, Patrick, I’m Steve.” Patrick glared at Lamar; his face was still filled with pain but now anger had surfaced as well. Lamar looked away like a shamed student, Patrick slowly turned his gaze back to Steve. “Who are they? Patrick started to loosen up a bit, but kept his hand close to his pistol grip. “Couple of goons for Tommy. Local guy who went on a power trip after the world fell to shit. He took up arms in the local high school, got a bunch of men and women around to help him. They see ‘em as kind’ve uh…” Steve trailed off, trying to find the right word for it. “a hero, I guess. For all his medals in the war and all.”

  “And they have vehicles?” Patrick seemed to be perking up at this concept. “Sure, they do, loads of ‘em.” Steve spit on the ground. The remaining guards were still on duty, but they had moved inside now. Choosing to avoid the cold, they were pacing around the first floor with their guns holstered, occasionally walking in front of the shot-out windows.

  They weren’t worried about any retaliation, that’s for sure. “Tell you what, Patrick.” Steve spit on the ground again, looking at the house. “You and the kid help me get inside and find out where my friends are. I’ll getchya’ a nice big ol' vehicle outta’ their lot. Even getchya’ a V8.” Lamar was silent, not wanting to meet Patrick’s eyes still. He stayed focused on the house instead, the snow flowing in through the trees.

  Patrick, poking his tongue around in his mouth, eyed the blue house. “How many of ‘em did you spot?”

  “Only ‘bout five of ‘em. The two there on the first floor, the little guy in charge went back to the basement, never really saw him. Two more upstairs. I think only one of ‘em has any experience— the little guy who's seemin' to be in charge. Rest of ‘em are these blubberin’ fucks, tell by the way they hold ‘em guns.” Patrick gestured to the two guards inside the house. “Tell you what, we get inside there and see what’s
what. Then you agree to give us half your stuff. After that we’ll talk about getting a vehicle and whether or not we’re playing hero for the rest of your friends.” Steve tapped his fingers on the rifle, it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. “Fine, but you look half dead already. What's the plan, Patrick?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trevor and Garret, best friends since childhood, had decided to join Tommy after the fall of their town’s National Guard barricade and the withdraw of said National Guard towards more “critical” parts of the state. Enlisting the first day they found him, that had been three months after the barricade fell. Nobody had been keeping exact track of the days since then, however.

  They had been on the verge of starving when Romero’s company found them. They were thin and weak, not adept to surviving on their own; they had preferred smoking pot and playing video games more than joining the local scouts as teenagers. For whatever reason, Romero’s men brought them back, and after some training they had been moved around from squad to squad. Now, instead of being in Romero’s elite squad, they were back here guarding Tennessee and this looting party while Romero sped off with the high value targets. Tennessee was heading back downstairs. They didn’t care to see what remained of Dorian any more than they wanted to be freezing. Besides, nobody was expecting any retaliation from the Sick Ward, so they decided to head inside and warm up. Failing to notice the obvious shapes moving in the tree line across the road, they too were plotting.

  “Wonder where they’re takin’ the healthier ones.” Garrett spit out a stream of tobacco chew on the wall, watching it slide down. Trevor made his usual face of disgust, walking around the living room. “Who knows, Tommy’s got all sorts of weird ideas.”